


does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me

by lshtons



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Childhood Friends, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Kinda?, M/M, Mixed feelings, Mutual Pining, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Secret Crush, Supoortive Friends, Touring, my favorite 😔☝🏽, ok time for smut tags, oof i know, that was hard to write without being repetitive, yeah i went there sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 13:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18011804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lshtons/pseuds/lshtons
Summary: "Unspoken words. Lined up in his throat, but never falling from his tongue. Accidental touches that send a shock up his spine. Hugs that last too long. Eye contact that speaks volumes but never loud enough to understand what they're saying. That's all it's ever been, and it's driving Michael insane."Or, Michael feels everything for Calum, and he needs to know if it's mutual.Title from "You Be The Anchor That Keeps My Feet On The Ground, I'll Be The Wings That Keep Your Heart In The Clouds" by Mayday Parade





	does this deafening silence mean nothing to no one but me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dafeedil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dafeedil/gifts).



> for Angie — though i know she probably doesnt read these anymore — because her words are what made me truly fall in love with writing and they're what made me remember that love so that i could write this. i love u! (im lukehemmigns on tumblr, we're mutuals if u wanna come say hi! 🧡🧡🧡)
> 
> —
> 
> that motherfucker michael just had to post those pics of calum HOLDING HIS HEAD and KISSING HIM ON THE CHEEK and rip open my malum heart:) so here i am with a fic after two years of not writing:))))) please enjoy while go back to crying over these pics
> 
> (also im sorry if it sounds like the last thing i wrote but best friends to lovers is the trope i live for ghsujfjkfjdjc)

Michael's gaze has remained low, picking up his head every now and then to laugh at one of Luke's jokes. They're in their dressing room, preparing themselves to go out and play for Los Angeles. Everyone in the room is buzzing with the usual adrenaline, but he sits on the leather sofa watching the floor. The band's photographer, Andy, snaps a shot of Michael, and says nothing but "Okay." with a smile. Michael returns it, though he doesn't really want a camera in his face considering that here is the last place he wants to be right now.

He's not sure what's wrong with him, his head has been nothing but white noise and emotions he can't decipher since the tour started. Michael picks up his gaze and lets it fall on Calum. He's bent over his suitcase, shirtless, trying to figure out what he's going to wear for tonight's show. Michael starts at his neck, walking his eyes down his shoulders and along his arms, muscular and deep amber. He inhales sharply and travels back up his arms to his defined collarbones. "M-M-X-I-I", he mouths silently, reading the roman numeral tattoo stamped there. He remembers when Calum first got it, how he showed it off to the rest of the boys with the proudest grin on his face. Michael had started tracing the letters with his fingertip, and even though Calum winced at the touch because the tattoo was still sore, he had let the blonde continue.

Michael returns his gaze to the floor. Okay, so he knows exactly what's wrong with him. His thoughts are set to — well, Calum. The time he spent with the man writing and recording their last album brought out every feeling Michael didn't know he had for him. Maybe they were always there, because nothing has ever felt more right to him since he picked up a guitar. It's always been . . . different with Calum, but Michael thought it was just the closeness of their friendship.

"Michael!" Calum yells, pulling the blonde out of his deep thought. He's got a coy smile on his face, and Michael can feel himself blushing. "What d’ya think?"

Michael's eyes run over the tall man standing in front of him, in awe of what he sees. Calum's got on this sparkling silver blazer that reflects the light and shines brilliantly. His hair is classically combed over to the side, leaving his brown eyes on full display. Michael knows that they've put more effort into their wardrobe on this tour, but he finds himself mesmerized by what he sees.

"You. . . . . you look amazing, Cal. Really." Michael says breathlessly. The smile on Calum's face spreads widely across his face, and he thanks the blonde as he inserts his ear piece into his ear.

Michael notices that everyone is crowding around the door—they're about to go on, he realizes. He didn't even hear it when they had gotten their cue. He jumps up to grab his guitar, quickly checking one last time that it's tuned to his liking. He tries to think of anything else; his hands are dry; he can feel Luke's loud laughter move through his chest; his breathing is slightly erratic.

He falls in line behind Calum as they move up the stairs to the stage. When they reach the top, they wait for their cue to walk out. Michael can barely stand still; he pleads silently to his mind for it to just go blank.

"Mike, are you okay?" Calum asks, worry crossing his face.

"Yeah, 'm fine. I just have a lot on my mind, I guess." Michael says quietly, offering a sheepish smile for reassurance. Calum steps closer and cups the side of Michael's neck. It's unexpected; Michael holds his breath and leans into the touch. Calum's hands are warm, his calloused thumb stroking his jaw. He revels in the feeling, his heartbeat quickening.

Calum comes as close as he can get, putting his lips up to Michael's ear. Michael shudders slightly at the feeling of the man's lips brushing against his skin. "You're okay. You're gonna go out there and kill it, and you're okay." Calum whispers before kissing Michael's pale cheek. Michael can feel his whole face heating up, and the gentle gesture sends a surge through him. Calum pulls away and refocuses on getting ready to go out on stage, and Michael finds his fingertips touching the spot where the man's lips were flush against his face.

Calum kissed him. Kissed his cheek to comfort him, or maybe even more? Michael can never tell. Most days, he's sure that his feelings are one-sided. But then Calum does things like this, and it sends Michael into yearning, hoping that maybe it is mutual.

Michael's body is white hot; he can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears over the intro to Babylon as his feet carry him out onto the stage. The screams of the crowd are muffled, their expectant faces applying more pressure than they ever have before. He feels like he's underwater, plunging down further and further as everyone else watches him sink. He's not sure if he'll remember the lyrics or play the right notes when all he can think about is how close Calum was to him just now, and how much he needs to be that close to him again.

It's hard, but he gets through it. He powers his way through the show, and makes up for slacking at any time by delivering an extremely intensified performance of Why Won't You Love Me. There were times when he would tremble in his speech when he could feel Calum's gaze burning on him. The fans still eat it all up, and he hopes that they didn't notice him struggling to perform, or at least will call it "an off-night."

Every performance has been a blur as of late, and Michael eventually finds himself at an after-party being held at the apartment of someone he doesn't know from a hole in the wall. He's been hiding out in the kitchen all night; he feels too disconnected from everything and everyone around him to engage. Michael takes a sip of his drink and grunts at the burn as it slides down his throat. His eyes are on Calum once again, watching him out in the living room under the deep pink lighting. The brown man dances fervently like no one is watching, sweat rolling down his forehead and a radiant smile dressing his face. Michael studies how he moves his hips along to the music, and he pictures his own hands on them, gripping them tight and pulling Calum closer. He can feel the rose red spotting his cheeks; lust taints his vision momentarily. He chases the thought away with another sip of his drink.

Calum eventually spots Michael, and a grin breaks arcoss his face. The raven-haired man slips through the crowd over to him, and Michael begins to vibrate with anticipation. Once he reaches, Calum grabs Michael's free hand and meets his gaze. "Come dance with me! Please."

Michael sets his drink on the counter behind him and stammers out something of a decline because standing here and holding his hand forever sounds much more appealing, but Calum isn't having it.

"We're dancing. The kitchen has seen enough of you for the night." Calum insists as he drags Michael back into the living room. He doesn't put up a fight; he holds his breath and allows himself to be immeresed into the crowd, the pink glow falling over them. He feels slightly claustrophobic in the heart of the packed room, but it isn't until Calum is pressed against his chest that it feels like the walls are closing in. The song playing is rich in bass and intense in speed, and Calum moves his body accordingly against Michael's. The blonde man can barely breathe, his body hotter than ever in the midst of the sweat-soaked bodies and rampant conversation. His hands, trembling slightly, rise and go flush on Calum's hips just as he pictured. Calum lets out a low hum, and Michael takes that as a sign that this is okay. He tightens his grip and starts to move in sync with Calum's movements. Michael wonders if the man can feel his heartbeat in his back. The sound of it is beginning to swallow the music. The rest of the night seems to fall away, leaving him with just the recollection of how warm and close Calum was on his body, which is all he cared to remember anyhow.

• • •

The warmth of the sunlight kisses Michael's cheek as it bleeds through the blinds onto his face. It reminds him of the one Calum planted on him; his fingers touch the spot and a small smile sits on his lips.

They're on the tour bus to travel through California and Michael finds himself in the back lounge area, curled up on the leather sofa beside the window with his knees tucked into his chest. He's awake quite earlier than the rest of the band—not that he could sleep, anyways.

He knows it's silly. . . losing sleep over a kiss on the cheek? It's more than that, though. The way they danced at the party the night before makes his heart race at just the thought of it, and yet Calum spoke nothing of it. He just slipped away from the blonde's grasp as soon as it was time to leave; a breeze sweeping in to put out Michael's flame. Did it mean anything to him? Once again, the man's actions left him only confused. Unspoken words, lined up in his throat, but never falling from his tongue. Accidental touches that send a shock up his spine. Hugs that last too long. Eye contact that speaks volumes but never loud enough to understand what they're saying. That's all it's ever been, and it's driving Michael insane.

A rap at the wall makes Michael jerk his head up, spotting Ashton leaning against the threshold with his lips formed into a concerned smile. "Am I interrupting anything? Or is it okay if I join you?"

Michael rolls his eyes at the older man's joke and taps the empty seat next to him, taking him up on his offer. Ashton makes his way over quickly, and he doesn't ask anymore questions, just sits silently. Michael appreciates the company, but he's not sure if he wants to talk. He doesn't really want to tell anyone how he feels about Calum besides Calum himself, but the confusion blanketing his mind is getting to be too much. It's fucking up his ability to perform, and he has a responsibility to the band and the fans to be at his best.

"Ash," Michael begins trepidatiously. "What if you're in love with someone and you can't tell if they love you or not?"

"Woah, big question. Well . . . if you can't tell, I would assume that the other person doesn't even know how you feel." Ashton replies, shrugging.

"What if you're terrified at the thought of telling them because you don't know if they feel the same way?"

Ashton chuckles lightly, brushing his honey curls out of his eyes. He places his hand on Michael's shoulder and meets his gaze. "Listen, Michael. Infatuation is fleeting. Rejected, it leaves nothing but a bruise and you'll forget about it before it even has a chance to fade. Love makes quite the lasting impression, and rejected, it will leave a gash that never really heals. But left unacknowledged for nothing to come of it, a wound just as nasty is created. Don't scar your heart unnecessarily, Mike."

Michae is taken aback by the older man's words; he toys with the idea of telling Calum how he truly feels. The profession of his love possibly being met with rejection makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and he can feel his stomach turning inside out.

"I'm tired," the blonde whispers. Ashton sighs with understanding as Michael rests his head on his lap, his fingers combing through the younger man's hair. He falls asleep in the midst of his thoughts of what love becomes when unexpressed and unrequited, and if his fear is worth the risk of his love remaining that way.

It's been three hours when Michael awakes. Ashton's gone, and the side of his face is clung to the seat with sweat. He wrinkles his nose at the gross feeling and sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He digs his glasses out of his pocket and puts them on, and he sees his bandmates dressing themselves as his eyes refocus. Calum is the first to notice that he's woken up (of course), and he waves at the blonde man in lieu of a 'good morning'.

"How'd you end up out here?" Calum asks, ambling towards Michael. He's clad in only a red ringer t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants that hug him in all of the right areas. Michael takes a minute to admire the man's body, as it leads him to eventually remember that they're taking time to explore in San Francisco today before the show.

"Couldn't sleep; my bed was unusually uncomfortable last night." Michael says after a long yawn, stretching his arms exaggeratedly. It's half true, and Calum seems to believe him.

"Well, besides the lack of room and that it's impossible to stop thinking about the fact that the only thing between you and fallling onto the floor is a curtain, it's pretty comfortable." Calum quips sarcastically. Michael gives it an honest laugh and starts making his way to his bunk to get a new outfit to change into. He discards of his sweatshirt on the walk there with Calum trailing behind him. He can feel the raven-haired man's eyes all over his bare porcelain skin, and a heat swells in his chest as a smirk plays on his lips.

"Anyways, I hope you got enough sleep considering that we have plans for today." Calum mentions.

Michael furrows his brows in confusion as he pulls his head through a black hoodie. "Since when?"

"Since an hour ago. We're going hiking."

"Oh my God," Michael groans. He drops the jeans he picked out and opts for sweats instead. "And whose idea was that? Ashton, I'm sure. I hope he knows that Luke can't handle that much physical activity."

"Oh, they're not coming. Ashton said something about a flea market he wanted to check out, and Luke wants to tag along. So it'll just be me and you. And the view, if we can manage to make it to the top." Calum explains, and Michael catches a glimmer of something in the deep brown of his eyes. Anticipation, maybe.

Michael swallows hard and tells the brown man that it all sounds good to him, merely a cover up for the nervousness coursing through him. They've barely spent time alone so far on this tour, and Ashton's words are ringing in his head. He wonders if the older man made plans to take off with Luke on purpose, to further urge Michael to tell Calum the truth. Michael watches the smile breaking across Calum's face before he walks away to get his shoes, leaving the pale man with his feelings sitting heavily in his chest.

The early morning sun hangs high enough for them to feel it's warmth hit their skin, the cobblestone road rolling underneath their feet as they approach the hiking trail. Lush trees line their stroll, the low hum of the rushing stream following behind them. Calum walks slightly ahead of Michael while talking enthusiastically about something the blonde hasn't been paying attention to. Michael keeps at his slower pace and studies the brown man in all his excitement. He notices the way his hair coils tightly near the nape of his neck — the same curls he would run his fingers through when Calum got scared of the occasional Australian thunderstorm when they were kids hiding from the weather under Michael's comforter.

"Michael," Calum pouts. "Michael, are you even listening to me?"

It pulls the blonde back into the present, and obviously, he has barely heard a word the other man has said. "Uh . . . something about houses?" he tries, earning himself an eyeroll.

"I was saying that I could see myself living here. If I ever decide to get out of LA, I mean. It's such a homey city; I would buy one of those houses that stand on the higher points of the hills. God, I'm already talking about buying a house. This is awful." Calum reiterates, laughing at his train of thought.

Michael looks over to the houses that Calum speaks of, cozy townhouses bearing pale shades of paint looking something of the art in a storybook. "Houses are lonely," Michael shrugs, kicking the pebbles before his feet.

"Not when you live with someone else." Calum counters. He tilts his head back to steal a quick glance at Michael, flipping his head around before they can really make eye contact.

The blonde shudders slightly at the comment, his imagination immediately painting him a colorful picture of what was suggested. He can see early mornings with Calum in their home, wrapped up in white sheets and sunlight. Quiet nights spent on the living room floor with only the sound of their favorite records and their lips moving against each other, lazy Sundays spent messily playing the guitar in their backyard. It's all vivid, and he's terrified by how far ahead he's thinking about something that has no promise of a now, let alone a future.

They've hit the beginning of the hiking trail, their heads craning upwards as they check out the winding path that sits atop the hill they're about to climb. It's a trek, and the men don't talk much on the way up (mostly because Michael doesn't have enough air in his lungs for both). They occasionally chatter about topics like tour and what they're going to eat when this hellish experience is over, but it's nothing near what needs to be said.

At Michael's surprise, they eventually reach the top, and the view is breathtaking. It's a full shot of the San Francisco hills, the city's greenery and colorful architecture leaving them speechless. Michael drops to the grass to catch his breath as they take in the scenery. He reaches for Calum's wrist and yanks on it, urging him to sit beside him. Obliging, he drops his backpack and joins the pale man. They're nearly alone up there, only accompanied by several other hikers and birds singing softly to each other. Michael looks over at Calum, who's squinting due to the sun as he looks at the view before him. Michael smiles at the sight of the cute crinkles around the brown man's eyes; the light casting a shadow of his dark eyelashes over his cheekbones.

He must feel Michael's eyes on him, because Calum turns around with a curious simper on his face. "What?"

"Nothing." Michael says and looks away, chewing on his bottom lip. Ashton's words haven't left his head, but he wants to stay frozen like this. The breeze is parting through his hair, the sunshine warming his skin, the distant buzz of the freeway putting the anxiety that burns slowly in his chest at bay. He doesn't want to trade this moment in for the horror of the unknown.

Calum huffs in disbelief as color stains his cheeks, determined to say what he's not. He opens his backpack beside him and digs around, pulling out a nectarine. Michael watches as he takes a bite, juice dripping over his full lip as he breaks into the fruit. He runs his thumb over it, licking it in lieu of a napkin before taking another bite.

"Remember that girl I was dating a few months earlier this year?" Calum asks with a full mouth.

Of course Michael remembers. Golden hair down to her narrow hips, freckled sunkissed skin, blue eyes that almost looked grey. She looked like LA spat her right out. She had the faintest laugh and only laughed at Calum's least funny jokes. Michael kind of felt sick every time her glossed lips met Calum's — now he knows why.

"Ali, yeah, I remember. What about her?"

"She was obsessed with eating these things, and now I can't stop either. Our kisses would always taste like them. She'd give me one when I would leave her apartment, along with saying 'I love you'." Calum recalls, staring at the fruit in his hand as if it were playing back the memories he spoke of.

Michael's stomach tightens instantly at the sound of those words, the hairs on the back of his neck rising and his body going rigid. "And what did you say?"

"'Thank you'." Calum shrugs, and Michael wonders if his relief is visible. The raven-haired man extends the food over to him. "You want any?"

Michael smiles and accepts his offer, finishing the rest of the nectarine. It's delicious.

They remain at the top of the hill until noon rolls around and their hunger sets in. They find their way into a taxi to a restaurant for lunch, ending up at a small cafe for casual fare. They chat quietly, making each other laugh every chance they can. They nearly make it through their meal uninterrupted, but a young woman approaches them before they can finish. She's dining alone; Michael noticed her stealing looks over at their table since they were seated. They talk with her for awhile, and she only asks for their autographs on her phone case before returning to her table.

"Do you ever feel like they can see right through you?" Michael asks once she's out of earshot. Calum raises a brow, not catching onto his point. "Like, the fans. I mean, I know we trying to keep things as real as possible, but we still put up a bit of a front. That girl, she was so calm and had that knowing look on her face. I swear they can see right through it."

Calum sits back in his chair, and now that knowing look has found itself on his face. "I guess so. What do you think she saw?"

Michael nearly chokes on his toast at that question. He thinks she saw the way he looks at Calum, thinks he looked like he had 'I'm in love with Calum Hood' written across his entire face. "I 'dunno. I think she could tell that I haven't had my head on straight lately. That I've been in another world."

"What's it like there?" Calum asks. His expression has softened, and Michael doesn't feel completely transparent anymore.

". . . Confusing, at best. I'm just . . . having a hard time emotionally these days." Michael sighs, opening up trepidatiously.

Calum leans in and places his hand over Michael's on the table, meeting the blonde's gaze. "Things will clear up eventually, I promise."

They hold each other's gaze for at least a minute before Michael whispers out an "Okay." Michael swears there was more to be said hiding behind Calum's lips, but they just finish their meal in silence.

• • •

Michael swings his microphone in his hand as the band settles down on the stage for soundcheck. The clapping finally dies down as they're all seated, the fans staring up at them eager for something memorable. Michael shifts in his spot uncomfortably; what are they going to ask? Are they finally going to bring up the fact that he hasn't been himself as of late?

Ashton speaks first, lighting up and taking control of the room like he always does. He immediately goes off on a tangent, detailing he and Luke's flea market experience from earlier that day. Luke joins in, starting with pointing out that that's where he got the plaid pants he was clad in. Calum and Michael just observe, Calum observing the crowd and Michael observing Calum.

The sessions rolls on with the usual questions and sidebar stories, and neither Michael nor Calum say much. Ashton calls on a tall girl with cherry-red hair to ask her question, and the brazenness of it grabs the whole band's attention.

"Who are you guys closest to within the band?" she asks, and Michael's face nearly goes as red as her hair.

"Well, we're all pretty close, I guess. Me and Calum have been hanging out a lot more lately, though, so." Ashton chuckles, his answer laced with discomfort, catching Michael's gaze as he speaks.

To the blonde's surprise, Calum lifts his microphone to answer as well. "Yeah, I mean, I wrote him a best friend song, I think we're pretty serious." Calum jokes, stirring up laughter amongst the fans. "But I've known Michael forever, so it's different."

 _It's different._ Calum just proclaimed that what he has with Michael is different than any of his other relationships, to an entire room of people. It takes Michael a minute to realize a smile has grown on his face as Ashton diverts the fans attention to joking about Calum's song for him just being a sham.

He looks over to see that Calum is already looking at him, a smile playing on his own lips. Michael's heart begins to feel like a paperweight in his chest; he just wants to know what he _really_ means to Calum, not just be teased with the possibility.

They play If You Don't Know and Wrapped Around Your Finger after the Q&A, and as every word leaves his mouth and every chord vibrates under his fingers, Michael can feel how much more meaning these songs have to him now than they did when they were written. He wonders if he should try to get at least one of them back on the setlist, but that would be an obvious cry for help if anything is.

• • •

Michael wipes the sweat out of his eyes as they get off stage after their San Francisco show. It was a beautiful night at an outdoor arena. They got to sing their song of the same name of the city, and Calum's eyes remained locked with his while the raven-haired man sang his beginning verse. The sky was painted shades of pink and purple, and Michael almost laughed out loud in the middle of the song at the cliche of the combination of their environment and his feelings.

"Shit, that was a good show!" Luke yells as he throws himself into a chair in their dressing room. "I think we should go out for drinks when we get back to LA."

They’ve got an encore show in their American hometown, and it’s a chance for Michael to escape to his own space. "I was just gonna retire to my bed that I've missed, so, so much, actually." Michael informs the room as he gathers his things back into his bag. He's exhausted, and with the stressful thoughts of Calum running rampant through his mind, he needs to be alone.

"C'mon, Mike. Don't be an old man, come out with us. I want you there." Calum tries, his voice dropping to a sweet whisper with his last sentence.

Michael caves quickly, the words changing his mind almost instantly. "Alright, alright, but I'm appointing myself as the one that stays mostly sober since you're depriving me of my rest and relaxation."

"Christ, you sound like my mum." Ashton groans, laughter spreading over the room at his quip.

They clear out of the dressing room with much haste, excited to get to their American hometown. They've piled onto the tour bus that's carrying them throughout California, settled in for the six hour drive ahead of them. They've got hilariously bad music and even worse reality tv shows to get them through the trip, but that's all background noise to Michael, who finds himself in the window again, lost in all the places his mind always takes him.

His eyes rest on the ocean as they drive past the coastline, but all he sees is his day earlier spent with Calum replaying in his head. The double-edged sense of security and vulnerability that he was given when the raven-haired man looked into his eyes at lunch washes over him again; he still tastes nectarine on his tongue. He smiles a small, bashful smile at that—at the thought of knowing what a kiss shared with Calum would taste like. Something that's been the subject of many of his daydreams these past two years, often leaving Michael in an awfully embarrassing state of yearning. He's grown to hate yearning; he doesn't want to anymore. He wants to _know,_ wants to share in mutual feelings with the man so that their lips could meet outside of his daydreams. So that the dull ache in his chest will turn into a fire in his eyes that no one can put out.

Michael feels tears pricking at the corner of his eyes, which he whisks away quickly enough for his feelings to be left unbeknownst to Luke as the tall blonde ambles into the room.

"Cal and Ashton are ignoring me and I'm bored, so," Luke pouts, enclosing his face in his hood as he pulls the drawstrings as far as they can go.

"So, I'm your last resort? That's lovely, Hemmings. You really know how to make a guy feel valued." Michael jeers, feigning offense. He already appreciates the distraction.

"Whatever, move over. Please." Luke chuckles as he strides over in his usual ungainly manner. He stretches across the leather coushins and rests his head in Michael's lap. Luke's eternal innocence is comforting, and Michael doesn't bother to pick the banter back up and ruin the temporary solace.

"Mike . . . how are you doing? You've been . . . different, lately, and I just wanna know if you're okay." Luke asks softly, a sudden end to the pregnant pause between them.

"For a second there I thought you were trying to make small talk with me," Michael jokes, trying to cut down on the tension that's now filled the room. He was hoping Luke would talk about something else, _anything_ else, but maybe the bliss of ignoring the elephant in the room is a luxury he can't have in such a close-knit band. ". . . I want to give myself to something that has no promise of accepting me and I can't stop dancing with this . . . precarious desire to just take the leap of faith and find out what might happen."

Luke lay silent and still for a moment before his response hits the older blonde. "That dance can only end two ways: either with taking that leap of faith, or it grows tired and you're only left with 'what if's that you can never quite escape."

Jarred by the reality that the younger man's words brought him face to face with, Michael slumps back in his seat. "Damn, every time I sit on this couch these days someone comes and waxes wisdom to me."

"Would ya look at that, there's something I know that Michael Clifford doesn't." Luke brags humorously, earning himself a flick on the back of his head.

"Shut up, check if hell froze over first." Michael scoffs, Luke's laughter washing the room clean. "Seriously, though. Thank you."

"For what?"

Both men look up to see Calum suspended in the doorway, leaned against the threshold with his arms folded across his chest. Michael's eyes linger on how the man's tattoos decorate his tightly-wrapped muscles, and he wonders if Luke can feel the heat slowly rising in the pit of his stomach.

"Nevermind. We have to stop for gas; I'm gonna go get some air. Feel like joining me, Mike?" Calum asks with inviting eyes, quirking his brow up at the elder of the blonde men.

"Y-yeah, sure, of course. Off, Hemmings." Michael agrees, sliding out from under Luke, who frowns at his loss of company.

"How come you didn't ask if _I_ could come, Calum?" Luke teases, the knowing smile on his lips calling them out. Calum flips him the bird and pulls Michael out of the room by the hand, the pale man's face completely flushed as he trails behind him.

The bus comes to a halt at the gas station as they find their way to the front, the driver exiting before them to go and fill the tank. They step off of the bus and Michael inhales slowly as the fresh air hits them. The ocean breeze tickles the back of his neck and he quickly becomes used to the strong smell of gasoline. There's no one and nothing else around besides the stars, which Calum is already examining intently. Michael watches the man as he watches the sky, and his breath escapes him. His heart rate picks up at the thought of the only thing that can describe what he feels right now.

"You know gas stations are liminal spaces?" Calum says abruptly, finally turning his head to face Michael.

The blonde cocks his head to side, confused. "A—a what?"

"A liminal space. Waiting rooms, parking lots. It's like, a place of transition. You come to them from one experience only so they can take you to the next. Nothing here is for permanency, it's strange." Calum explains. Michael is always grateful whenever the dark-haired man allows him a look at his thoughts.

"Oh. Well, isn't all of life like that? I think every experience is pretty much a vessel to take you to the next one." Michael shrugs.

"I think you're right. Kinda takes the eerieness out of places like this, then." Calum says. He approaches Michael as he speaks, the blonde taking in a short breath. The gap between them is limited to being barely there, and Calum is looking at him the way he was looking at the stars a minute ago.

"Um, n-not necessarily. I think they still feel different than anything else. Sometimes, I like to see it as this chunk of time that's separate from the rest of your life, and anything can happen during it." Michael counters, but he's not exactly paying attention to what he's saying when all he can think about is surging forward to kiss Calum like his life depends on it.

"Like an empty slot of sorts, that you can fill with whatever you want. I like that." Calum smiles. He reaches out and touches Micheal's arm, bringing more goosebumps to his skin than a bone-chilling winter night ever could. "What should we fill this one with?"

"Calum, I . . . Listen, I really—" Michael chokes out, but their empty slot is filled by the interruption of their driver slapping the side of the bus and yelling out to them that it's time for them to get going.

Calum lets his hand fall away and they return the gap between them to separation it once was. Rose paints their cheeks and the silence that falls over them wraps around their necks in total suffocation.

"What were you saying, Mike?" Calum asks softly, something of desperation in his eyes.

"Um . . . It's—it's nothing, nevermind. Let's, uh, we should get going." Michael sighs, tearing his gaze away to stare at the cement beneath their feet.

Calum slowly nods, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. He lingers momentarily, looking up to the sky for the stars again. They've disappeared, smokey gray clouds covering their glow. He heads back onto the bus, Michael filing in behind him. The blonde finds Luke where he left him, but now watching a shitty rom-com with Ashton and loving every second of it. They join them, and neither of the other men bat an eye. They settle back into the environment like nothing happened at all, and that's what sits heavy on Micheal's heart; he wishes so badly that what happened out there was permanent.

The time slips away like sand and the band is in Los Angeles before they even realize it. Calum and Michael haven't said much of anything since they left that gas station, bringing the thick tension along with them on their trip. Ashton and Luke practically sprint into the bar as soon they get there, and Michael can feel his heart rate picking up once they're inside. He's not really in the mood for any of this; his situation with Calum already has his heart pounding and palms sweating. Maybe it'll be a way to relax and forget about his feelings for a moment, but that would require drinking _much_ more than he plans to.

It's quite crowded, people littered everywhere as they have one drink too many and throw their heads back in laughter, a caricature of contentment through Michael's filter of anxiety. The band disperses quickly, the other three members already nowhere to be seen. Swallowing hard, Michael decides on a seat at the bar, seeing as all the tables are taken. He can only hope that he'll be left alone, but that's asking for a lot at a bar in Los Angeles on a Saturday night. He slides onto the stool and flags down the bartender to order a Heineken. It's crisp and a little jarring as it slides down his throat—a few of these might make for just enough of a distraction.

It's by the time he's on his third that finally the stranger next to him speaks. He can't tell if it's the same person that's been there since he sat down, but regardless, he finds himself eye-to-eye with them.

"Hello," is all the man says, with the most innocent smile Michael's ever seen on his face. It's got dimples decorating each side, and Michael blames the beer for being what prompts him to answer.

"That's new. Starting with just 'hello', I mean." Michael remarks, and he's already got red creeping up the man's neck.

"Well, I'm not sure why anyone decided that it doesn't work at bars and parties in the first place?" he chuckles.

"Um, I think the basic rules of flirting are responsible for that one." the blonde teases, and his stomach twists at his choice to carry this on.

"Ah, so we're flirting? I would like to be clear on that." the man says. He runs his fingers through his jet black hair, that subsequently falls back into place over his eyes, which are a blue so clear that they're almost gray. His thumb passes over his jaw as he speaks, and Michael fleetingly pictures his tongue running across it instead. Except it's Calum's jaw in his mind, and guilt pangs in his chest. 

"Yes, yeah, we are." Michael breathes out, attempting desperately to ignore his confused emotions that don't know whether this conversation should even be happening. "I'm Michael."

"Michael," the man repeats, like he's testing out how it feels rolling off of his tongue. "I'm Casey. Sounds like you kind of have an accent, are you from . . . Australia? You've gotta buy me a drink if I'm right."

Michael smirks, and waves the bartender over once again, but not only for himself this time. It takes two boulevardiers for him to find out that Casey works in investment banking and absolutely hates it, but loves swimming dearly and has an affinity for baby giraffes. It takes one round of shots for Michael to tell him that he's in a band (though they never get around to which one he's in), and that gaming is kind of a passion of his, even if it seems immature. Luckily, Casey finds it endearing. It takes another round of shots for them to end up at Casey's apartment, Micheal under his tanned body with his hands clutching the man's toned arms as he fucks him feverently. All Michael can see is Calum, though, and he hopes that he doesn't moan the raven-haired man's name while filled with another.

It's over too soon, or maybe not soon enough, Michael can't quite decide. He waits until Casey is sleeping to slip away, pulling on his clothes with much haste. Once he gently closes the front door behind him, he finally allows himself to weep over the guilt and yearning that's raging through him.

It's not until he reaches his own apartment and plugs his phone in to charge that it turns on and shows the multiple missed calls and texts, mostly from Calum. They're all pretty much the same, save for the first two.

**CALUM:** _Mikey? Where are you, you left without saying anything :( Hope you’re okay_

__

**CALUM:** _Hey. Text me or Ash let us know that ur okay. Luke probably won't answer cause he got really hammered haha_

Michael blinks back tears, pained by the guilt burning in his chest. He knows he really shouldn't feel that way, but there was something that felt so, _so_ wrong about every touch that wasn't Calum's. He doesn't know where they stand, lost in limbo between friends and lovers, but he knows that there's no one he wants more than Calum. The thought of drunkenly trying to replace him, even if just for the night, makes him feel sick. 

**MICHAEL:** _I'm okay. Was feeling exhausted, decided to call it a night early and forgot to let u guys know. Sorry :( Glad to know that Luke still had a good time without me though lol_

Michael bites down on his tongue as he hits send on the lie that sets down heavily on his shoulders.

**CALUM:** _That's too bad, I wanted you there. Rest up, LA tomorrow. Goodnight :)_

Michael wishes him a goodnight as well and sets his phone back down on his nightstand. He stumbles out of his clothes and wanders into his bathroom, opting for a shower. He can still feel Casey all over him, and he tries to wash the night away as the hot water beats down onto his skin. It's an hour later when he finally makes it to his bed, crawling in with a bit of a helpless feeling settling in his bones. A result of yearning, maybe, which he detests. He pulls the duvet up to his chin, and it reminds him of all of the childhood nights spent with Calum just like this, curled up under the covers in his bed when the dark-haired boy came to sleep over and didn't want to stay in his sleeping bag. His bed suddenly felt absolutely empty, devoid of the warmth of the other man's body and brown eyes full of life as they stared into his own.

• • •

The following week spent playing on the west coast is something out of a nightmare, or at least that's how it feels to Michael. That night at the gas station hangs heavy over his head, that night that Calum nearly _kissed_ him, and the raven-haired man has barely said a word to him since. They've only spoken out of necessity, and anytime Michael tries to initiate a conversation, he's left with so much to say and no one to say it to. Michael's convinced that the same man who seemed as if he was seconds away from meeting him with the kiss that he longed for a week ago now hates him, and he has no idea what do about it. 

There's a list in his head, a list of possible reasons why Calum might want him dead, that he files through every second of his day. When he flutters the sleep out of his eyes; _is it because I never finished telling him what I wanted to say?_ When he's onstage trying to stay illuminated for the crowd; _can he tell how I feel about him and doesn't know how to tell me that he doesn't feel the same way?_ When he rests his head on Luke's shoulder as the rain falls over them on a park bench in Seattle; _God, unrequited love seriously lacks all of the romance that's always associated with it._

They're making their last stop on this side of the country in Portland, and the beautiful weather feels like sympathy from Mother Nature herself. The warm air wraps around Michael like a much-needed embrace, and he releases the breath he's been holding for a long time. They have the day to explore the city, as per Ashton's request, and the uncomfortable silence that has fallen over the band makes it hard to know what everyone's plans are.

"There's this tattoo parlor that accepts walk-ins that I was told is amazing, should be a couple blocks from here. Think I'm gonna get something on my arm, wanna join me, Mike?" Ashton asks. Michael quickly accepts the invitation, jumping at the chance to give Calum some space and figure out where to go from here. He's not entirely sure what the other two men have planned, but they’re parting ways fairly quickly before he can even ask a question.

They walk over to the palor without a word, stopping to talk to a pair of fans who end up pointing them in the right direction of their destination. Ashton is unable to contain his excitement upon their arrival, rushing inside to take a look at their flash sheet. Michael figures that he might as well get one while he's here, and already has something in mind. Ashton opts for the phases of the moon ("No, there's no connection to it, I think it just looks cool as fuck.") and has his arms under the needle in no time. It's a few minutes before his tattoo artist is ready, and she winks with a smile when he explains what he wants done. He's accustom to the pain, so he only winces slightly when the needle begins to buzz over the vains in his wrist.

Michael can feel eyes on him, and he looks over to Ashton who's looking at him like he's looking through him, but his eyes remain soft. "You've been so quiet lately, Mikey. This whole tour, actually. Everything okay?" Ashton asks gently, and Michael can feel his throat begin to tighten.

"There's only one thing that I really wanna say, and I'm terrified to say it to who I need to say it to, and I've kinda been fighting with myself over it for awhile." Michael explains cautiously.

"Well, you can practice by telling me. Get it out there, I swear you'll feel better." Ashton suggests, and the blonde's heart rate picks up at just the thought. He does need to get it off of his chest, desperately, and maybe telling _someone_ will relieve him of some of the emotional weight he's been lugging.

"Okay," Michael breathes out, his voice already shaking. "I . . . I, uh—I love Calum. Like, with every bone in my body, I love him."

A smile breaks out across Ashton's face, sending red creeping up Michael's cheeks. "Aw, Michael! Holy shit, I knew it. Don't you feel better now?"

"No, I feel like I'm going to throw up. Wait—how could you tell?" Michael asks.

"You look at him _very_ differently than you do anyone else. You look at him like . . . he's your whole world." Ashton shrugs, a slight smugness to his smile. Michael's face is completely flushed; he didn't realize that his feelings were written all over him and he wonders if Calum can read him like Ashton can, which he finds the possibility of to be mortifying.

". . . I'm scared, Ash. What if this destroys our friendship? I need him in my life no matter what, I don't wanna risk that." Michael sighs as he watches the tattoo artist write out the black letters scarring his pale skin.

"Except living with the thoughts of 'but maybe we could have been . . .' will drive you insane, and more importantly, weigh down your heart. Don't do that to yourself. It's _worth_ the risk." Ashton reasons. Michael, begrudgingly, accepts that he's right. It's take the plunge, or drive himself up the wall.

"When do you become a life guru?" Michael quips, which is his way of thanking Ashton for his help.

"Since the day I became responsible for you three, how else would I make sure that you didn't screw up your lives or die on my watch." the honey-blonde laughs.

"Wow, thanks for having so much faith in us." Michael rolls his eyes jokingly, and he relaxes back into his seat. He feels . . . unprepared, but certain. Unprepared to face Calum and offer his feelings in exchange for possible rejection, certain that he would never forgive himself if he didn't try.

The sun is sitting on the horizon by the time that they're both finished and pleased with the results. Ashton beams excitedly at the moons decorating his arms, and Michael reads the words written across his wrist over and over again in his head. "I promise." reads the two-word sentence.

They've got a big show ahead of them for their fans in Portland in three hours as they stroll out of the tattoo shop. Michael's body feels electric, the words that he's gonna tell Calum vibrating through him. Ashton gives him a tight squeeze on the shoulder, offering reassurance. Michael has been feeling more and more transparent lately—or maybe he's just not as good at masking his emotions as he thinks his is.

The horizon is seamless with the blue-black sky of mid-evening once they're finally meeting back up with Calum and Luke at the venue. Michael fixing his gaze with Calum's feels like coming home, but home feels colder than it usually does. The blonde shys away and keeps his eyes staring straight ahead as they walk down the corridor to their dressing room.

It's as they're walking out onto the stage that Michael grabs Calum's hand to stop him briefly, his nerves firing off. "Calum, I—it's about the other night, at the gas station, I really need to talk to y-"

Michael is quickly cut off by Calum's response in a tone so calm it's almost scary. "There's nothing to talk about. I know what you meant, it's whatever. I don't really know what to say, anyways."

And just like that, they're onstage. Michael's fingers are basically on autopilot, because his mind is definitely not on playing the correct chords. The shock feels like a 200-pound weight fallen on his chest that he saw coming. _He doesn't feel the same way, and now he hates you,_ is the thought that's looping through his head while he tries to hold onto his composure enough to get through the show. He's screwing up the lyrics and playing the songs wrong, but he isn't there to realize. He's so far gone, in guilt and shame, because he's pretty sure he ruined the best thing in his life. Luke's been giving him worried looks all night, and his inability to perform properly isn't very reassuring. It's when it's Calum's turn to talk that Ashton waves Michael over, and Michael can feel how pensively the crowd is watching him.

"Mike, are you okay? You're forgetting the words and everything; you look like you just saw a ghost." Ashton sighs under his breath, being sure that no one else can hear them.

"I _love_ Calum, and he d-doesn't feel the same way. I-In fact, he just might ha- . . . hate me." Michael stammers, his eyes beginning to sting.

"Oh, Michael . . . it's gonna be okay, I promise. Let's just get through these last several songs, okay?" Ashton empathizes. Michael looks to his wrist to see the same words written there; he let's his eyes close to hold in the tears.

"Okay." he breathes out. He makes his way back up to his mic as Jet Black Heart begins, and he allows his personal disaster to fuel his performance. It's a song he wrote with Calum, an experience that holds a place in his heart, now bittersweet at most.

It's rocky and rushed, but Michael gets through the set. It feels as if someone drained the world around him of oxygen as he scrambles off the stage and back to the dressing room to gather his things, chest tight against his ribcage. Without a word, he's off to the hotel they're staying at. The chill of the Oregon night sets into his bones as he waits for his taxi to arrive, the heat of the tears brimming around his eyes in contrast to the brisk wind whipping around him. The thought of Calum wanting nothing to do with him hurts worse than knowing that Calum doesn't love him, and it's once he's in the back of the cab that Michael allows himself to choke out a sob.

Upon his arrival to his hotel room, slowly, Michael climbs into bed with his fractured heart in his hands. He tucks his knees into his chest and soaks the blanket beneath him with tears, because he feels that there's nothing else he can do _but_ cry. Calum has shut Michael out with his feelings never properly expressed to the raven-haired man, fluttering around his head and heart like an unopened love letter, stamped "Return To Sender".

An hour sweeps past before there's a soft knock at his door. Michael, in and out of a heartache-induced sleep, answers begrudgingly. "Not now, Ash. I don't wanna talk about any of it."

"It's not Ashton. Is it okay if I come in?" Calum's voice pours through like an alarm, jarring Michael into silence. The door having not actually been properly shut, Calum enters the room without an answer, and locks the door shut behind him. His back is against the grey wall with the moonlight from the open balcony spilling across his skin, painting him the shade of a milky opal with deep umber eyes lingering on Michael.

"You had a pretty hard time up there on stage tonight, Michael. I feel like we should talk . . . can I sit?" Calum starts. Michael sits up and nods, swallowing hard as the raven-haired man sits beside him at the end of the bed. "I know I've been kinda cold and distant lately, it's just . . . ever since that night at the gas station, I haven't been quite sure what to say. It made me feel-"

"You don't have to say anything, I get it. I'm sorry I made you feel uncomfortable, I mean, it must be weird to you, right? I'm so sorry . . ." Michael interrupts, and the confusion on the other man's face is the most unexpected response.

"Wait, what? What must be weird?" Calum asks, brows furrowed.

"You know, um, h-how I feel about you."

". . . which is?"

Michael shakes his head, breathing in sharply. They're definitely not on the same page, and Calum's eyes search his face desperately for an answer.

"That I, well, like you. _Love_ you. I love you, Calum. I know you don't feel the same way, but it's-"

Calum lets his shoulders drop as he lets out a deep sigh of relief, a smile breaking out over his face. "God, Michael, I thought you rejected me that night. I thought I was making _you_ uncomfortable, ‘cause I was definitely going to kiss you, but you looked so shocked and then you never finished saying what you were going to say . . . I thought I freaked you out. God, I love you. So much. Just never wanted to ruin what we have."

"I've been stressing out for so long for the same reason, always so close to telling you but never wanting to put . . . _us_ on the line. Shit, I feel so stupid." Michael laughs, dropping back onto the bed with his hands over his face.

Calum falls back next to him, and slowly lifts his hands off of his face. "That makes two of us." Calum's hand travels to Michael's chin, his thumb swiping gently over the other man's bottom lip. "How long have you known?"

"I think I've known since the day I met you, it just took me a long time to realize it. Too long." Michael whispers, smiling shyly.

It's almost dizzying how quickly Calum plants his lips on Michael's, kissing him with a lifetime's worth of desire. Michael feels like he's finally breathing, cupping Calum's jaw in his hand to pull him as close as he can get. They freeze time like that for awhile, languidly kissing with the taste of passion on each other's lips. It lasts that way until Calum slips his leg over Michael, hoisting himself on top of his hips. He breaks their kiss to ask if this is okay, earning immediate agreement from Michael. They reconnect their mouths and this time Calum lets his hands wander up Michael's shirt, rubbing the man's chest and eventually running the pads of his thumbs over his nipples. Sensitive, Michael pulls in a sharp breath. Calum smirks and snakes up Michael shirt, revealing his porcelain skin. He moves his head down and drags his tongue across both of his nipples, making Michael's stomach convulse at the touch.

It's not long before Michael's pulling his shirt off over his head, scrambling to help Calum remove his. The blonde runs his fingers over the other man's lean body, feeling himself hardening even more at just the sight of him. His hands find their way to the button of Calum's jeans, which he promptly opens so they can be discarded of. Calum unstraddles him to slip them off, and gets Michael out of this own. It's the blonde's underwear that goes next, unveiling his beet red cock flush against his almost-silver stomach. Michael erupts into a low whine as Calum swipes his tongue along the length of it, his gaze meeting the burning desire in the raven-haired man's eyes.

"Do you have any lube?" Calum asks quickly, more than ready to begin.

"Suitcase." Michael mumbles out, pointing to the blue duffle bag in front of the closet. Calum darts across the room and digs for it, returning with it already smeared across his fingers. He kneels in front of the bed as Michael lifts his legs, offering Calum his hole. He starts with one fingers, the blonde groaning as he starts to stretch him.

"F-feels so good, God, k-keep going." Michael stutters out, fucking down on Calum's finger. He adds another, and it's like he instinctively knows every spot to hit. Not wanting him to finish before they even begin, Calum soon pulls out of the man writhing before him. He walks himself up a trail of kisses on Michael's warm body until he reaches the blonde's lips again. Offering him some relief, Michael begins to slowly stroke Calum's cock, the raven-haired man erupting into a low groan into his mouth. Calum travels to his flushed neck, sucking bruises into the skin as he grinds slowly into Michael's hand.

"Fuck, I didn't know just how badly I needed you to touch me like this. I'm gonna make love to you, wanna feel every inch of you." Calum whispers into Michael's ear, a fragile whimper escaping the blonde's mouth at the words he never thought he'd hear.

Calum lowers his body and parts Michael's legs gently, his pale back arching slightly as Calum grazed the tip of his dick over his asshole. Michael's cries fill the room as the other man enters him, bottoming out. He starts like the tide—lazily in and out as he strokes Michael's delicate hips. It's when Michael moans out a string of pleads for him to go faster that Calum picks up the pace, pouring desire into him as he fucks him more avidly. Precum drips onto Michael's stomach as the fullness of Calum's cock slams into him, and he reaches down to tug some relief out of his own.

Just seeing Calum like this is enough to send Michael over—his bronzed chest glazed with sweat as the thin silver chain laced through a ring dangles from his neck; his lips kiss-bitten and parted as deep moans untangle their way out of his throat; the moon placing a spotlight on his beauty; the effortless roll of his hips as he fucks him with care and confidence.

"Deeper, holy shit . . . I-I'm gonna come, Cal." Michael says breathlessly, his dick throbbing at this point. Calum wraps his fingers around it, the cool sensation of his silver rings sending a slight shudder up Michael’s back. Asking the blonde to come for him, he pumps his cock fervently into his orgasm. His thighs shake around Calum’s hips, which slow their thrusts to a stop as splotches of white coat Michael’s soft stomach.

Both breathless, Calum pulls out and scrambles to meet Michael’s lips again. Sweaty, a mess of tangled limbs and moans, their mouths deliver kisses on each other’s every inch until Michael ends up with his lips pressed to Calum’s warm cock. He takes the tip of it into his mouth, a groan kicking out of Calum’s throat as the blonde lowers his mouth until it hits the back of his throat. Teasing, Michael continues to slowly suck him off, smirking as he swipes his tongue across the head.

“Oh my God, I would actually like you to _fuck_ me first before I come.” Calum whines, punctuating his cry with a blissful sigh as Michael slips a lube-wet finger in him. His back arches as he bunches up the sheets within his fists, Michael peppering kisses on the inside of his thighs. Seeing how close he is, Michael doesn’t waste much time stretching the dark-haired man out. He kneels before him on the bed, Calum quick to wrap his legs around Michael’s waist. Michael stares at him momentarily; Calum’s bottom lip his tucked between his teeth, his full eyelashes fanned out over his cheekbones, his hands stroking Michael’s thighs. Calum’s eyes flutter open to see the blonde’s eyes roaming his body, his cheeks flush with color. “What?”

“Nothin’, just admiring. I love you.” Michael says, getting the same rush he gets each time those three words leave his mouth.

Calum’s hands cover his face, the biggest smile spreading to the edges of his cheeks beneath them. “I love you, too.”

“. . . I love you,” Michael repeats.

“You said that already.” Calum laughs, walking his fingers up the blonde’s leg. Michael lifts his hands and laces their fingers together.

“I know. Once is never enough. Neither is twice—I love you.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you. Huh, it does sound better in 3s.”

They giggle at their overzealousness, Michael’s heart full at the sight of Calum’s crinkly-eyed, smiley joy. He lays forward to steal a quick kiss before he begins to slide his length inside of him. A broken breath escapes Calum’s parted lips as Michael starts to fuck him, rolling his milky hips against the curves and dips of Calum’s amber body. The pace is quick and desperate, Michael’s hands grip Calum’s sides as he thrusts his dick in and out of him. Dark curls fallen in front of his eyes and stomach clenching, Calum cries out a string of Michael’s name once he comes, the blonde stroking him through it.

Clean up is quick but messy, full of fumbling and trying not to laugh at their awkward exhaustion. They eventually drop themselves beside each other in bed, the gray comforter slipped haphazardly over their buzzing bodies. They watch the moon settle into yesterday and the dawn reveal the sun as they talk about _everything._ Emotions, childhood, music, dreams, sexuality, tour, fame; themselves.

The morning light streaks across Calum’s cheek and Michael brushes his finger along it. “Y’know, I thought this, us, would feel different, but it doesn’t. It just feels . . . right.” Michael ponders aloud.

“I think it’s ‘cause this is always where we were heading. Just didn’t realize it for awhile.” Calum says softly, taking Michael’s hand from his face and kissing his palm.

Michael, remembering something, slips his hand away and locks their lips once more, this time inquisitively. It lasts longer than necessary, and eventually the blonde breaks it to speak. “Huh, maybe it’s silly, but I was kind of expecting your kisses to taste like nectarines.”

Calum rolls his eyes half-heartedly at the mention of it. “I haven’t had one of those since we went hiking that day. I decided that I didn’t want someone else’s ‘I love you’s on my lips anymore.”

It’s what Michael wanted to hear, a smile and blush creeping up on him. He snakes his arms around Calum’s muscular torso and rests his head against his ribs. It’s like that how they finally fall asleep, under the wash of light from the early sky. They don’t even realize it when they drift off, because every second before that had already felt like a dream.

• • •

Michael’s hands shake as he tries to find the right one, Calum standing eagerly behind him.

“Do you want me to do it, Mikey?” Calum suggests, chuckling at his boyfriend’s frazzled behavior.

“No, no, I’ve got it. ‘M just nervous, is all.” the blonde insists. After another minute or so of fumbling and Calum trying to do it himself, Michael eventually figures it out and sighs with relief as he hears the door click as it unlocks. They push it open and step inside since the first time they saw it months ago, wasting no time on making it theirs. A house with an insipid blue lap siding and a dark oakwood stoop sits atop of the San Francisco hills, level with horizon and overlooking the city. Just like they said they wanted a year ago.

The glossy light flooring squeaks slightly as the stroll inside, walking around the room you meet upon entering. Everywhere, there are details of character; Calum slides his hand across the white walls as he admires the Renaissance-esque crown molding. The house is bright, due to the massive windows everywhere that peaked Michael’s interest in the home in the first place.

Looking around, Michael can see their lives together in their new home as clearly as the love he feels for the dark-haired man. He sees them sat on the living room floor, eating take-out since cooking was something they both regularly refused to do; they’re laughing so hard at the movie they have going that their ribs burn. They’re in the kitchen, indulging in one glass of wine too many, writing songs for the next album as they steal kisses inbetween the verses that speak of their love. They’re in their bedroom, the whole space flooded with sunlight from the window that faces their bed, Calum touching him in ways that make him forget his own name. (He’s sees that in the kitchen, too.) They’re in the backyard, sharing beers with friends and arguing over who gets to pick the next song to play, and eventually settling on Michael’s choice when he reminds Calum of how his lips feel against his neck. They’re everywhere, and their love alone could fill this empty house. It’s moments like this where Michael can’t even remember what it felt like to not be in Calum’s arms, to be terrified of his own emotions.

Calum hugs him from behind, wrapping his arms gently around Michael’s midriff. Unlike the scattered fragments of feelings and fear that made up his life before, he’s home in the presence of the man he loves whose touch holds his entire world together.

**Author's Note:**

> me? write a happy ending??? shocking i know hsjkfkkfgdb but i hope u all liked! does anyone even read these anymore lol
> 
> please leave kudos and comments on ur way out, it would mean a lot 🥰
> 
> i would love to discuss the fic, so if u wanna talk about it outside of the comments, come find me on twitter and tumblr!
> 
> twitter: butterfIyangel
> 
> tumblr: lukehemmigns
> 
> thank u for reading 💛🌈


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